


Silence

by Kit



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 09:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit/pseuds/Kit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the curlers come out of her hair, Amy Pond makes a decision. </p><p>Set in August, just prior to Pond Life 5. Major spoilers for Asylum of the Daleks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

Amy never expected to cry at the sight of her own face. 

Rory might joke about it, his voice catching high and his tone tight with all the worries he can’t smother. He’d say something about how he stitches up faces while she sells hers. 

He’d been doing that a lot, lately. Making jokes that don’t quite work. She didn't know how to stop them. Didn't know how to say that it made her feel small. She felt it most when it was just them, alone, in their house with the perfect door, because she ached and he knew it and neither of them knew what to say. 

She’d started to panic without the exhaustion that came from work. Her body, when it didn't burn from hours of shaping to a new brief, felt exposed and fragile and not even ordinary. Because she wasn't, any more, and it was only when you had someone to share it with that difference was a good thing. 

(When the last time you’ve had a good laugh was over an Ood, you know you’re in trouble.) 

Staring at herself in the latest mirror, watching people fuss with the hair that curled madly about her face, Amy couldn’t breathe. 

There had always been something there. Nights with her daughter—precious and too few—had confirmed that there was a shared likness about the eyes. She took in the sameness, and tried not to think that she was seeing her future laugh lines in her daughter’s face. And Mels, though her memory shied away and hid a lot of the time from Mels, had gestures that were all Rory’s. Her hands had been his, though they’d all been too bloody young to see it. Amy wondered if the little girl she had never seen shared any of their features. She wondered if all the regenerations that Melody would never have might have been filled with fragments of the boy and girl who had waited once, and found themselves changed.

Amy’s face was everywhere. It sold perfume and cereal and alpine holidays. It had crumpled when she read the latest letter; the one that confirmed what lay heavy and airless in her home, and between her and Rory while they slept. The gynecologist had said that at least she had her job; there were less ways to ruin her figure now. 

She had punched him. 

Looking in the mirror, and the face she and River sometimes shared, Amy knew she could never tell him. He’d stay if she did. He’d be brave, and he’d be wonderful, and he would stay. Rory Williams, the boy who waited. Waited for something that could never come. And she would hate him for it. 

When she came home that night, she’d have to tell him to leave. 

She would be the girl who gave him up.   


End file.
